


Memory in the Dark

by BestRobinEvr



Series: Fade to Black Verse [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Falling In Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BestRobinEvr/pseuds/BestRobinEvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is one outcome from the fic I wrote 'Fade to Black'. Please read that first since this wont make sense without it.</p><p>Tim wakes up after the incident with no memory of what happened and has to piece everything together before its too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm glad so many of you enjoyed Fade to Black and I know many of you requested more. I wasnt sure at first if I was going to keep it going but this plot sorta popped out at me and I wanted to write it while I have the time. 
> 
> If this plot isnt the direction you were hoping for I'm sorry. I am open to other ideas for another plot from the Fade to Black fic.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this one! Please comment and let me know!

Whispers.

Curses.

Pleading.

Sobbing.

It comes and goes.

Light comes and he can hear them. 

Then things fade again.

It feels like floating...

in an ocean of blackness and light.

Some things seem so real. Even the pain feels real sometimes, but everything fades and he’s adrift again. 

It could be forever it could be a moment. He can’t seem to tell time. Maybe this is a dream. Can you tell time in a dream? He doesn't know. He see so many strange things in the blackness. Faces, voices, moments... but he can't place them. He doesn't know what they are. The blackness tells him not to care. To let them go. 

He can't.

He can't let them go.

He drifts to them and they get louder and LOUDER. Till its a booming mess of noise. 

Too much.

Too loud!

It hurts!

Everything HURTS!

Make it stop!

MAKE IT STOP!

LIGHT. 

Fills everything and with it comes silence.

Silence thats not silence.

Its quiet.

Theres a beeping to his left. Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Its an annoying rhythm. 

He’s heard it before. He just can't place it. He knows he hates that sound but not the reason why.

Its not as bright as he thought a moment ago. 

A room. He’s in a room. 

Its dim. The only light being the lamp on the table where the beeping is coming from a box on a stand. 

Movement to his right. 

Its a man. He’s sleeping in a chair. Using a leather jacket as a pillow. 

He’s familiar. 

The man from the fog. The one who held him and begged him, pleaded with him as the blackness came. 

He tries to sit up but the pain is too much.

Breathe.

Oh God... breathe.

The room spins.

its too much.

He feels sick till...

Blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

Light.

The room.

He’s back in the room. 

The beeping to his left and the man with the coat to his right.

The man is different. He seems hurt. His eyes have dark circles and he looks very unkept. Worse than he’d last seen him.

Time must have passed. Jacketman is neither in the same position or the same clothes.

Things in the room have changed. There’s more now. There are a few chairs and a couch. Flowers and dying balloons... a stuffed bat toy beside him. Blankets on the chairs and pillows on the couch, all neat and folded. 

Slowly.

Ever so slowly he sits up. 

The room tilts and threatens to spin out of control.

Breathe in... breathe out...

Everything settles into place once again.

He’d woken up... again. Had he been sleeping?

The fog. The fog was in his head. Fluffy and fuzzy and so... 

hard...

to think...

Curtains move to his right.

They’re long and reach the floor. He wants to see. To look at the light. It seems so bright compared to the rest of the room.

It looks warm.

Carefully. 

Oh so carefully he turns to sit on the edge of the bed. The tube in his hand and the clip on his finger tug at him. Try to make him stay. 

He shakes off the clip.

The beeping stops. 

He pulls the tube. 

Its IN his hand.

He feels a moment of panic. Why would it be under his skin? He pulled it out disgusted and distraught at the sight. He knows this. What is this? The fog. He can't think. He's breathing faster and his chest feels tight...

A light flapping noise and he looks to it.

The curtain.

The light.

He calms at the sight.

Suddenly he can hear it. A laugh. A face. Its Jacketman standing in that light. Laughing and smiling at him. A cigarette in hand and no shirt. Just smiling at him...

Then the vision is gone.

The man is still asleep in the chair looking sad even in his sleep... So sad compared to the vision.

Standing is a slow process. His legs feel weak and threaten to give out. They hold just barely. He wants to stand. He wants to see the light.

One step.

One at a time and he has to use the things in the room to hold him up. 

The desk, the chairs, a bookshelf. 

It takes so much...

So much effort just to get across the room. 

The bookshelf is right next to the curtain. He can feel the air coming in. He’ll have to let the bookshelf go to see. He grabs the edge of the sill. Its not a window. Its a door. A balcony. He lets go of the bookshelf and pulls himself onto the balcony. 

Into the warm light.

Distantly he heard the thud of the book he’d knocked over but it doesn't matter. 

He’s outside. The sky is filled with clouds painted in bright colors from the warm light. He can smell the ocean in the air and see it beyond the stretch of garden and trees below him. 

He can hear someone calling a name. They sound upset. 

The sky’s colors reflect off a greenhouse not far from him to his right... and beyond that a large city sprouts of from the ground. Towering darkly... dangerously.

“Tim!” The voice is behind him. “Hey, Tim?”

He stares at the scene in front of him. Somehow it means something. He’s relieved... but why? The fog in his head clouds his answer. Its distressing. He knows this. Its familiar. He’s tired.

A careful touch to his arm. He looks. 

Its him. Jacketman. From the chair. Worried, scared and happy all in one. Everything showing on the man’s face.

His chest hurts. Its hard to breathe. Why doesn't he know this?! 

WHY?!

God he’s so TIRED.

“Hey.” The man says gently. “Tim? You ok?”

Tim? Was that him? It felt like him but he wasn’t sure. Not about anything. 

“I...” His voice. It hurt. Felt raw. “I don't know where I am!” So tired...

He couldn’t stay standing any longer. 

Too tired. 

His legs gave out.

“Tim? TIM!” Jacketman caught him. Held him tight. Lowered him carefully to the ground. “Hey hey hey. Tim? Talk to me ok? Tim?” 

Jacketman sounded so scared...

So sad, like he would cry any second. 

He hated that. It hurt him to see the man like this

It was the second time, he remembered. 

“Please. PLEASE! Just stay with me ok?”

He was hurting him by just not answering. 

But he was so tired and the blackness was creeping in. 

He struggled to say something. To make the man not be sad.

“T-tired...” Was all he could get out. The only word he could think to say.

Other people came in but he couldn't make them out too well as the blackness pulled him in. 

Into the tide. 

But this time it was warm.

The blackness was warm and welcoming.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up was easier the third time around. Some of the fogginess was clearing from his head. 

The room was his. He remembered it. Though he didn't know where the chairs and couch had come from and the Bat toy was back in his arms. 

“Hey.” He heard from his right. He knew that voice. Jacketman. God what was his name? It was on the tip of his tongue. “Don't sit up ok? Do you need anything? Water?”

Setting the stuffed toy to his side he nodded slowly. He hurt most everywhere, though most of it was a dull ache.

A second later the man was helping him to sit up. 

“Small sips ok? Or you’ll make yourself sick.” Jacketman held up a glass and he drank slowly. It felt like a cold relief on his dry throat. It felt like forever since he’d had a drink of water. Though at this point it could have been for all he knew. After a moment the man took the cup back and set it on the desk.

The man looked worried, afraid even. “Do.. um... What do you remember?”

He thought about it for a moment. “The fog. Dirty fog. Things broken... everywhere. Burning. I remember... fire and... Rain? It felt wet. I think I was bleeding but... I don't know why.”His throat felt scratchy and his voice felt like it hadn’t been used in a while. He turned to the man. “You were there. You came out of the fog. You had a mask on...”He rubbed his right eye with the palm of his hand to ease away the ache there. “No, it was a helmet but you had a mask under that. Then the blackness and I woke up here and you were there... in the chair... and outside.” He pointed in the general direction of both. “I saw it... but I... I don't... know where I am. Why? I should know that and know you. I know I do but... I don't.” He couldn’t remember anything beyond that and it was terrifying in the sense that he know he should know something so important but the feeling was distant too. 

How could he be scared of what he didn't know or scared of not knowing? No he was scared of what he lost. It was there he just couldn’t touch it. So close but just out of reach.

The man look just as scared as he was but sad again. So SO sad as he sat back in his chair like just hearing all that weighed on him. 

The man looked like he wanted to speak but couldn't. 

“Is it THAT bad?” he asked. 

“Yes!” The man huffed angry and upset. “Yes it is!” He sighed. “No. I-” He sighed again. “Just bad to me.”

“Why for you? I’m the one who can't remember my name though I have a feeling its the one you kept shouting at me.”

The man huffed a helpless laugh. “Yep, thats the one.”

“Tim huh?” He thought about it and it felt right enough he guessed but he’d been pretty sure it was something else. “I was pretty sure it was something with a R but I guess it could be worse.”

“Yeah you could be named Dick.” He grinned.

“Hey!” Tim warned. He thought about it then laughed. “I don't know why I feel defencive of that name. Its kinda unfortunate.”

The man snickered. “I’m so telling him you said that!”

“So, someone I know and obviously care for is named Dick. So what’s your name Jacketman?” He asked.

“Jacketman?” The man looked hopeful for a moment then shook his head. “It’s Jason.” 

“I like that name. I like it alot.” Tim smiled. The name made all kinds of feelings rise up along with the memory he’d remembered the last time he woke up. “You were by that window.”

“What?” Jason asked confused. 

“I remember you by that window. I remembered the last time I woke up and I saw you. You were smoking and laughing at me. You didn't have a shirt on and you were just smiling and laughing.” Tim smiled remembering it. 

“You remembered that?” Jason asked smiling as well. He looked like Tim had just given him the greatest gift of hope. “First real thing you remembered was that?” 

“Yeah guess so.” Tim smiled tiredly. “I like it. You look good when you smile. So stop moping ok? Whats there to be sad about?”

“Losing you.” He answered easily.


	4. Chapter 4

The next four days are a flurry of people. Two of them are specialist doctors for those who’ve suffered major trauma and head injuries, they ask a lot of questions and do a lot of tiring tests. Tim, as he’s come to remember the name as his own, feels as though he’s only ever awake for the tests and falling asleep once he can't take any more. 

It's limited who comes to see him, even though he can hear arguing outside of his room. Others want to come in and see him but the doctors are cautious. The tests wear on him and they worry too much excitement will cause a relapse. He’s still healing.

He was told how bad it had been. Many broken bones, most of which had healed while he was in a coma. Severe blood loss due to shrapnel from the explosion that ripped through his body in so many places the doctor made a joke about swiss cheese. No one thought it was funny. 

His worst injury, besides his head injury, being from blast lung which caused him to be put on a ventilator for a several months because he’d not been able to breathe on his own and had stopped breathing altogether, several times. 

He was given seizure medication and warned to take things slow and easy. He was also given a list of symptoms to look out for and expect in the next several weeks. From what his doctors were saying his recovery had been slow and problematic at best, thus far. 

He’s already started to remember some things. 

His name - Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne

His parents died some odd years ago. He remembers how but not why.

He remembers being a child in an empty house.

He remembers Dick... but not this one. 

This man that worries and smiles at him is someone he can feel lingering in the fog in his mind. No, he remembers the boy. 

Bright colors and brighter smile, flying high in the air. 

Sometimes the colors change in his memory. They get mixed up. The red, yellow, green become black and blue with sometimes yellow and it's so confusing. 

Its almost like seeing two pictures of different times on top of each other and he’s still working out the differences. 

He know’s Mr.Wayne... Bruce. 

He remembers being so small and looking up at him. 

He remembers pressed suits and flowing dresses and violins playing in the background as people laugh. Adults laugh at jokes he doesn't think are funny. 

Bruce laughs loud and big and he knows it's not real. Deep in his bones he knows. 

He’s too clean. 

Too bright.

Where are the shadows that cling to him and the rough growl that comforts him when is should be terrifying? 

What he gets is a large man who is so sad he seems the very definition of sorrow and guilt.

On the fifth day he’d had enough. 

He couldn't take it. 

Not from this man.

He’d had ENOUGH. 

The poking. 

The prodding.

The endless TESTS.

Then THIS MAN. 

Sulking and BROODING AT HIM.

Practically crying at him like a sad dog that he’d yelled at. 

“Stop it.” He growled at the man, at Bruce. 

“I don’t-” He’d started.

“Yes you DO!” Tim nearly shouted at him. “You know what you’re doing quite well, and you need to KNOCK IT OFF. I can't take it. You didn't do it. It's not your fault I got hurt and can't remember things. I might have forgotten my name but I know for a fact it wasn't your fault so... Just STOP.” 

“I’m sorry, Tim.” Bruce implored. 

“I know.” Tim sighed still irritated and not knowing what to do with that. “I didn't expect you to save me.” 

He hadn't. 

He knew that with everything he was. 

He didn't remember what had happened but he knew it wasn't anyone’s fault.

Wasn't any of THEIR fault. 

He knew someone was to blame. 

Ugly, wide smile and horrid laugh he knew he feared. 

“Do you... remember?” He asked gently but with intent, like it was important somehow. Important that he remember.

“No.” Tim huffed. “Not really, it's only a vague impression, but I know I didn't expect that to happen... like the whole thing was a surprise like... like that wasn't supposed to happen and nothing could have stopped it.” 

Bruce just nodded and was silent till Tim fell asleep again. It had been a better silence, Tim thought. An easier more comfortable one.


	5. Chapter 5

Some memories were coming easier. 

Mr.Pennyworth... Alfred.

His memories came after he’d started walking around. 

He was still weak and needed to sit down often but it was getting better. On the seventh day he’d wandered into the kitchen with Dick trailing after him like he was an infant learning to walk. 

He wanted to shoo him off but he’d stepped into the kitchen at that moment...

The smell of fresh baked breads and soups on cold nights...

Hot cookies just out of the oven...

Blueberry scones for breakfast made just the way he likes them...

Roast beef sandwiches, chowder, stew, rotisserie chicken, potatoes...

All accompanied by a well dressed British gentleman who served food with sound advice and a verbal lashing if need be...

Memories flooded his mind.

Loud and sharp and crystal clear.

Everything all at once

Twisting and swirling around his mind

His consciousness

So fast and STRONG.

It was like a punch to his gut and he felt sick with it 

So dizzy and nauseous and STILL the memories came. 

They wouldn't STOP 

Other people were there in the memories sometimes but not as CLEAR. 

He didn't know which way was up anymore 

He could distantly hear someone calling him.

Asking him... something? 

But the memories were consuming him.

Consuming all his senses and he felt his stomach revolt.

He wanted it to end and was oh so glad when the blackness took him again.

The blackness was calm and settle everything into place, so he didn't have to.


End file.
